


Thursday Girls

by Jaseish (curseofbunny)



Category: LoliRock (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bloodplay, Demons, F/M, Iristo Weekend, Minor Character Death, Sigils, Witchcraft, sorry zach, what do i even tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20849009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curseofbunny/pseuds/Jaseish
Summary: The whispers had all said not to chance the Thursday Girls. Don't talk to them, don't work with them on projects, don’t sit with them at lunch, none of the above. The only interactions allowed between normal people and the Girls were brushes and apologetic nods in the hallways, a silent understanding that they were not the same.But maybe Mephisto had never been the type to listen to whispers.





	Thursday Girls

**Author's Note:**

> ok warnings again here: minor and non-explicit character death. there also is smut here so like, keep that in mind y'all ^^

The whispers had all said not to chance the Thursday Girls. Don't talk to them, don't work with them on projects, don’t sit with them at lunch, none of the above. The only interactions allowed between normal people and the Girls were brushes and apologetic nods in the hallways, a silent understanding that they were not the same.

But maybe Mephisto had never been the type to listen to whispers.

It happened in the library. He pulled his bag over his shoulder and slipped away from his friends, heading straight for the table with one empty seat.

Eyes slowly rise and meet his. Mephisto knows who their leader is, but he takes a moment to look in each of their eyes first before finally acknowledging her.

Auriana, who always had bubblegum on her tongue, and never got told to toss it.

Talia, the smart one who’d silently slid him the textbook while he’d floundered.

Iris, the leader.

There was something about them. The mountains of hair, the way they walked, the way they looked at everyone around them. All of them, but especially Iris, had this aura about them… untouchable.

And Mephisto wanted to know more. He was curious.

“May I sit here?”

“I don’t know,” Iris smiled slowly with lips stained dark. “Can you?”

Mephisto dropped his bag and settled in. “I think so.”

The rest of the library is dead silent around them.

Auriana makes eye contact with someone and drags a finger across her throat. The library returns to the normal rustling and whispering, but only barely.

Mephisto had definitely disturbed the peace.

“So,” Talia glanced him over. “What brings you?”

Mephisto leaned down and pulled out his own textbook and notebook. “Didn’t feel like being alone today.”

Auriana casts a glance to his original table. “Looks sociable to me…”

“Yeah? Sorry, I didn’t see anyone worth my time there.”

Iris grins at him.

He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes from her since he sat down.

She had these bright blue eyes and dark lashes, dark lipstick, a dark hairband placed delicately at the crest of a whirlwind mass of blonde curls. It was the most hair he’d ever seen before, and it was currently torn between curling over her shoulders and hanging behind her chair.

He’d heard that once someone tried to cut it, and been found in a ditch the following week.

He was curious.

For the most part, they don’t talk that first day. It’s honest studying and conversation, but the electric undercurrent remains. And when the bell rings and they store their things, Iris offers him a big smile.

“See you tomorrow, same time?”

His heart had fluttered.

Getting closer and closer to the Girls was the best part. He learned things about them.

Auriana was a fashionista, but she also liked to cut corners. She wasn’t great in school but she was still sharp as a tack, and especially sharp when it came to the people around her. She liked the sensationalism of their group, and especially loved the uproar of Mephisto’s presence joining them. She sometimes whispered about how it was fitting, about a Mephistopheles, but those were always quickly hushed.

Talia was smart like he was, and they liked a lot of the same books. She was also a big fan of music and played the guitar, and the way she sounded when she practiced in the band room, long brown hair pulled back and out of her way, she let him listen and didn’t mind when he pulled out a second guitar to match the chords. They found a friendly middle ground easily, and in the classes they shared there was a silent understanding that each had the other’s back.

Iris was the hardest to read. She wasn’t good with her schoolwork, but she always had a hand in her notebook anyways. If he was careful not to be obvious, he could see that the book was full of strange symbols, and when she thought no one listened she hissed to herself in a language that she obviously thought no one else knew. She never seemed to be alone, and when he tried, she would laugh and smile and purse those lips, wagging a finger at him.

He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, or how she was going to finally let him in.

The answer came a few months into the tense friendship. Iris still hadn’t entrusted any secrets to him, and Auriana and Talia were keeping him at arm’s length, but he was still with them.

And then he was told that there was a party at Iris’ house the upcoming weekend.

Mephisto had noticed his image of himself changing as time went on. He’d started making sure his clothing was crisp on his tall, lanky frame, and he stood straighter. He towered over the girls and they didn’t seem to mind, so he held himself well and didn’t flinch at loud noises.

And he threw on a crisp black button down and jeans when the time came, ready for the night. Whatever it was, he was ready.

Well… He’d thought that until Talia opened the door and he entered the room and saw Zach Brady holding one of Auriana’s hands, drinking a glass of something light.

He flashed a warning look to Talia, who only seemed to respond with a pleading one of her own.

Auriana was in an off-the-shoulder little black dress, the long sleeves flowing around her wrists. She was laughing with dark lipstick and high black heels, and the pixie cut she’d gotten two weeks earlier still dusted her shoulders in spiky reddish brown chunks.

Beside him, Talia was in a black skirt that hugged her waist, a sheer black top easily showing the black strappy bra underneath. And then there were tall black peep toed boots on her feet, showing the black-painted toes. Her hair was pulled back into two braids and, of course, she had the same dark lipstick.

And there was Zach Brady, wearing light jeans and a violet flannel, and he was laughing at something Auriana had said and waving at Mephisto amiably.

What was happening here?

“Hey dude! They mentioned you were coming too, I was excited.” Zach steps closer with a hand raised for a high-five, which Mephisto reluctantly indulges. Zach ends up lacing their fingers together and stepping into his space.

Up this close, all Mephisto can smell is the vodka on his breath. He laughs nervously.

“So, what do you think this party’s gonna be like?” Zach stage whispers into his ear. Now that Zach isn’t on her, Auriana is scowling. She obviously wasn’t a fan of the fawning.

“Ah, fun?” Mephisto guesses. The words feel strange on his tongue. But Talia nods discretely and moves towards the table with the drinks.

So Mephisto chats with Zach quietly, keeping him busy. Auriana kneels on the floor and uses chalk to draw a circle on the hardwood, and Talia pours something from a dark bottle into four intricate goblets.

Zach didn’t have a goblet, he had a red solo cup. Mephisto feels a twinge of relief.

But they keep Zach busy and Mephisto brushes locks of light brown hair behind the other boy’s ear, employing the charm that’d gotten him this far and nodding sympathetically when appropriate.

And then finally, it’s time.

He’d noticed the tall stairwell, wide and sprawling, leading into the living room, but he hadn’t really been paying attention to it. It’s when he sees a pair of bare feet, toes painted dark, padding down it, that he begins to pay attention.

Wow.

That’s all he can say.

Iris was in a simple dress, strapless, the front stopping just at the point where it would be scandalously high on her thighs, and the back trailing behind her and sliding over the wood distractingly.

She was haloed in light, her hair loose for once and lips dark, eyes heavily lidded. If he had to guess, he’s assume that they were done too, dark eyeshadow and lashes to flutter against her cheeks.

And for the first time he’d ever seen, she was wearing white.

There’s a pause from the party on the main floor, even Zach leaning against Mephisto for support and watching in awe.

When Iris reaches the bottom of the stairs, she snaps, and a soft music starts playing, candles all around them lighting up.

“Terrible manners, I know.” She looked between each of them, then leveled her gaze at Mephisto and grinned. “Late to my own party?”

Mephisto can’t breathe.

Talia snickers to his left, and Auriana keeps working at her chalk circle. Even Zach relaxes visibly, downing more alcohol.

Every step Iris takes draws Mephisto’s attention. He’s not sure what it is, but his skin is crawling. Something inside him is whispering that he shouldn’t be here, that he’s wasting his time and his chance, but he doesn’t move. He just stares at the blonde and lets his mind supply the right words.

“Fashionably late, princess.”

Her eyes seem to glitter against the candle light. “Good boy.”

Zach leans forward and presses his forehead to Mephisto’s shoulder.

“Buddy?” Zach stage whispers. “I don’t feel so good.”

Normally he’d be concerned.

Tonight?

Something tells him that this is just how things go.

“It’s all good, buddy.” Mephisto cups the back of Zach’s side. “Come on, I think the princess has something to say to you.”

Iris is standing on the other side of Auriana’s circle, which the girl had just finished. She rubs her hands on a rag he hadn’t noticed and nods minutely as he leads the boy- his mind whispers the word ‘sacrifice’ to him- into it.

When they’re both in the center, he holds Zach still. One hand on his hip, the other lacing their fingers together.

The music builds slowly. There’s soft bumps and melodies that resonate inside of him, but he can’t remember where he knows them. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s something that Mephisto just can’t remember.

Zach’s head lolls back and rests on Mephisto’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, buddy.” He whispers.

Zach doesn’t see the knife coming, sliding across his throat.

The smell of copper is overpowering.

Zach convulses for a moment before sagging back against Mephisto, heavy and fading. Somehow it’s easy to hold him still.

Iris steps into the circle, pressing a metal bowl to the cut and accepting the blood flow. Some of it sprays and slides down her hands, easily staining the dress. The red blooms over the white like kisses, and other than the soft movements and the music around them, the room is silent.

Mephisto holds his breath as those eyelashes flutter over her cheeks, as she passes the bowl of blood to Talia. She draws her fingers through the blood and presses two into her mouth. When she pulls the fingers out, there’s a stained dark ring, and her eyes are brighter.

There’s a small metal sound, and Iris helps him to lay the corpse onto a metal rolling table. He was covered in blood and still strangely calm, strangely knowing that this was just how things went.

No matter what, his mind whispers, he’ll always find himself here.

Iris’ hands reach forward and begin unbuttoning his shirt, and when it’s off she lets it flutter to the ground. Then her fingers slide down to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them and pushing them down his hips.

Mephisto helps to kick them off.

Iris presses him down until he’s sitting in the center of the circle, not minding the blood that stains his thighs and boxers or the way it mingles with the chalk dust, turning into a thick, pink sludge.

Talia comes forwards with a new goblet, and Iris hands it to him.

“This is normal?” He asks quietly.

Talia glanced between him and the blonde. “Like you’re the first to end up in her circle…” She smiled encouragingly and offered a thumbs-up before she left the room.

Iris sank down until she was on her knees next to him.

“That’s not what it is.” The blonde dipped her lipstick-stained fingers into the goblet, and when she pulls them out they’re coated in another dark, dark liquid. She uses it to trace them over his biceps and pectorals, and whenever she runs out of liquid she dips them in again. “Really, trust me.”

“So I’m not like them?” His eyebrows rise. “I was kind of hoping…”

“You’re _special_.” Iris breathes it out slowly, drawing her fingers up the column of his neck.

From this angle, focused on only him, all Mephisto wants is more. More of that gaze, the bloodstained dress, the halo of hair behind her.

“How special?”

Iris slowly looked into his eyes. “Special enough that I’m not annoyed that you keep talking.”

Mephisto couldn’t help but snort.

She still felt distant, however.

He reached forwards and rested his hand on her hip.

Iris paused, looking down at it slowly, then swallowed and went back to working.

Even through the candle light, he can see the dusting of a blush over those freckled cheeks. So it did affect her…

The markings continue. Down his forearms and tracing the veins in the center of his wrists, pooling in the middle of his palms, then back to his chest. Up his neck and then back down, his abdomen and his sides and dipping down to the hollows of his hipbones.

It stains his underwear just as quickly as it stained her dress and her fingers.

He can't stop thinking about them. Slender and pretty, tracing every part of him to copy down the markings that told his story.

His back was starting to hurt.

He was starting to remember.

More and more of the liquid is used to cover him, chin to thighs, even the pads of his fingers itching as it cooled and crusted under his nails. Like a protection, it reminded him of what he'd forgotten.

His nails are starting to hurt too.

Iris sits back on her knees. Her eyes won't meet his, too busy searching for any imperfections in her sigils. He can read them now, though he doesn't need to.

He remembers.

His fist, clawed now, wraps around her wrist as she reaches out to fix a stray mark. She gasps and looks up at him, finally.

His eyes had changed. Before they were normal, dark green and gentle but intense. Now they had slitted pupils in the center, sharp, dangerous.

Mephisto pulled her closer and numbly, she followed.

As she was drawn in, there was a horrific splitting, cracking sound. Behind him, two monoliths, deathly pale, emerged and stretched, arcing far above either of their heads. As she watched, feathers shook into existence.

Wings.

Pure and untouched.

Iris can’t breathe as she settles into his lap. The goblet and the blood long forgotten, her fingers hovering by his shoulders as she takes him in.

“Me… phist…. opheles.” She whispers.

He smiles with sharp, sharp teeth. “Just Mephisto for you, princess.”

Her hands lower and rest on his shoulders.

His hand lifts to tip her chin into the proper place as he leans forwards to steal a kiss. It feels significant- his first with her, and his last with anyone else who would ever tempt him.

She may just be a witch, a thursday girl, but she would surely be the last he’d ever want.

The kiss is soft and sweet, but it doesn’t last long. They’re both hungry. She licks and laps down his chin and to the hollow of his throat, and he rumbles and purrs in pleasure as she finds the right spot to suck on.

Mephisto finds his hands moving over her body, her thighs and back and shoulders, and along the way his claws shred the fabric.

The blood sigils along his skin have soaked back into place, leaving just the wine and oil that had been mixed with it. It leaves Iris feeling light and bubbly as she sucks it off of him, her hands no strangers to him. They dance over his pectorals and his sides and they pull herself impossibly further into him, thighs squeezing tight even as he scratches them and pushes, pushes, pushes her skirts up.

Shreds them.

Her bare thighs sing with the pain until it settles, and she drinks it all in, obsessed with every lovely part of him.

He’s still the same as he was when he sat at the table. Mischievous, daring, sweet. Now, however, he has a few additions and she is finally somewhere he can ravage her.

And that, his mind clicks into place, is exactly what he’s meant to do here.

A summoning ritual, an unlocking ritual, a bonding ritual, it was all quite the same. In the end, it came down to the intents of the demon and of the spellcaster. And the only intent that remained, when the rest was stripped and shredded away, was interest. Tonight, interest was incarnated as carnal lust.

He rises to his knees in the same smooth motion as he grips her thighs to hold her steadily aloft, his wings stretching and bowing out.

And then he presses her to the center of the chalk circle, her golden hair haloing out around her face and her shredded, bloodstained dress in silky, flowing tatters. Her fingers rest on his biceps, her dark lips just barely parted and hooded eyes looking up at him.

An angel, sunk down to his level. Him, rising up to hers. Something along those lines.

“Iris.” He whispers. Caught in revelation, in reverence, all of her.

“Yes?”

“Mine?”

She nodded slowly. Her eyes were earnest. She knew what she was doing.

What she was agreeing to.

He sinks down, teeth finding the base of her neck and biting down hard. Her back arches and a silent whine escapes her, fingers tightening around his arms, but he doesn’t let it phase him. Not until blood bathes his tongue, sweet and familiar just like her, and not until she hiccups and not until she sags gently.

He pulls back, eyes flickering over his handiwork.

It wouldn’t just scar, it’d mark her forever. Most wouldn’t know what it was, but any other spellcaster would.

She shifted to press her fingers to it. Her blood stains them now, and she can’t seem to pull her eyes off of them.

He licks his lips. Blood. Hers.

He leans down to steal his second kiss.

She gasps in surprise at first, but it quickly shifts to a moan, her bloodied hand curling around the back of his neck, her thighs still quivering around his hips. His other hand holds her still there, rolling his hips into hers.

His wings brace them, a feathered haven, a barrier between the rest of the world and heaven.

One of his hands snake between them to press between his crotch and hers.

Iris shifts to press her cheek against his, breathing harder now. “Please.”

“Please?”

“Yes! I-” She swallows. “I want you.”

He presses down to kiss at the mark on her neck. “Hm?”

She shudders. “That’s- that’s your proof on me. I want to take you somehow.”

“Isn’t restoring me enough?”

“No.”

He hates to admit it, but he loves it.

He sucks some of the welling blood up and shreds the last of the fabric keeping their bodies from grinding together. She tenses before tightening around him, and he feels her heat, her desire, her everything.

Fingers knot in his hair, pulling him back.

He likes the stretch on his scalp, the way he bares his throat to her.

His eyelids lower so he can tone down the interest. She couldn’t know how much he’d liked that.

“You asked me to be yours, hm?”

He nods. His pupils widen just a bit, pleased. The purr starts back up.

“You didn’t mention my part of this contract- _Mephisto_.” The way she says it sends shivers down his body, unintentionally grinding every part of him, including something that swells and grows, into her. She gasps but holds her ground.

“I’m yours, forever.”

He nods.

“So you’re mine too.”

He smiles at her. He relaxes further, showing more of his stained throat.

“_Forever._”

Oh.

_Oh._

He purrs in pleasure as he descends again, a kiss on his mind and at his lips. He uses his lips well, parting hers hungrily and sealing it. Her hands relax too as they curl around his shoulders, her lower half impossibly hot and wet as it grinds against him.

For the first time in so long, he wants something. He wants her so bad that it hurts.

One of her hands slips between them and finds his member. She strokes it, and although it was already weeping from want, it twitched and bobbed into her grip. She snorted into the kiss with him, then pulled back to press her face into his shoulder as her thumb rolls over his slit.

His body jolts from the pleasure, all noise caught in his throat.

She nips at his earlobe.

He relaxes again, melting into her grip.

“I want you.” She mumbles. “Mine. Forever. In me. Now.”

He can't argue then, can he?

They shift together to line him up, and then he slowly sinks inside.

Being a demon, Mephisto had seen and done many things in his life. He'd witnessed the beginnings and endings, witnessed civilizations grow and foster themselves up until the inevitable fall, witnessed life and death and rebirth, witnessed even the soft, simple pleasures of a woman doing needlework while children and younger girls looked to her for guidance or a man sitting by himself after a long day, steadying his heart and smiling with pride.

He hadn't had the sensation of "sliding into a white hot, velvety cavern" in a while.

He shifted to bite her neck more gently this time, hips rocking in and out, wet noises filling the room.

She was so full with him, and as he stole kisses down her chest, he could feel her stuttering heartbeat.

His lips wrap around something unseen, unheard, and it strengthens. Her lips wrap around a helpless moan and that cavern tightens.

If he steals more kisses as he goes, then that’s just between them.

He shifts, wings creaking and rustling as they descend to fold around the circle. Around them. A cocoon of white feathers, unnaturally clean, untouched.

Pure.

Or something like that.

He lifts his hips up again and snaps them in harder, sending another wave through her. Her nails dig into his shoulders, thin red welts rising over the sigils and wine staining his skin.

Later, he would suck the wine and blood off her fingers, and the would be still together, holding each other.

For now, Mephisto starts to move his hips in a better pace, drawing out soft gasps and sighs with each impact of his hips and hers.

That dress he’d admired so well was covered in blood and wine and chalk, the circle below them now glowing instead.

Even if the dress was ruined permanently, he was fine with it. She’d look just as lovely in the hellish silks and mortal gold. He imagined the ivory corsets against her flushed skin and cupped one of her breasts to run the flat of his tongue over the perky bud there.

Then he imagined the crown of the damned- jewels that the earth had repossessed once the mortal owners fell, diamonds soaked in blood, metals which would never be completely free of sin.

Ever covered in him, she was still beautiful. Despite it, because of it.

His hips drive into her even rougher.

Iris shifts to cup the back of his neck and pull him up to her again. She couldn’t get enough of the taste of his tongue, the shivering fullness, everything.

She claimed his mouth in another bruising kiss.

He shifted his pace to be harder, faster. He’d been waiting so long for this… and here she was.

Her tongue brushed his and their lips bumped unceremoniously, and he couldn’t help the half smile and unbidden giggle into her. She swallowed it and pulled him ever closer, further into her.

He’d never met someone who wanted him like this.

He’d never felt this kind of _need_ burning through himself.

Part of it twists, shifting inside himself. One moment he’s relishing in her, the next he’s feeling warmer and warmer, something else possessing his hips for a moment.

She can feel it too.

One of his hands slide between them to rub at her while his own movement grows erratic, the burning low in his stomach helping him to-

Barely, just barely, she hits the edge first. Her teeth sink into his bottom lip as she inhales through her nose, a shiver rolling through her body.

And that’s, that’s when he follows.

His hips stutter before falling to just mindlessly rock into her, his forehead falling to rest against her neck. Bloodspattered, stained, the taste of wine and magic still laced together all over her.

Together, they caught their breath.

The room stilled beyond his feathers too.

The next time the Thursday Girls went to school, they had a secretive look about them, even more so than they had prior. They dressed in all black, except Iris, who had a tiny white dress on top of the black lace blouse and dark tights. They shared the same dark lipsticks and nails, and the same dark ribbons in their hair.

And as Mephisto walked down the hallway to join him, the school could tell that something had shifted.

Changed.

His eyes were hooded and a smirk was on his lips.

All dark clothing… save for a pure white leather jacket.

He offered a high five to Auriana and a fist bump to Talia, and for Iris, well.

A kiss is the least of what they shared.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know how y'all like this! i've been wanting to make something off this concept for years, and i'm really proud of this. thank you ^^


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